


A Good Start

by lusilly



Category: Star Wars Legends - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: New Jedi Order Era - All Media Types
Genre: Developing Relationship, F/M, Rebel Stand, Romance, Trans Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-24
Updated: 2016-02-24
Packaged: 2018-05-22 23:48:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6097919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lusilly/pseuds/lusilly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On Borleias, Jaina wants to move forward in her relationship with Jag, but she has to have a conversation with him first.</p><p>In which Jaina is trans (aka "metagen" in Star Wars lingo), and Jag is secretly addicted to corny holodramas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Good Start

**Author's Note:**

> My first post-worthy Star Wars fic! I'm only about halfway done with NJO so if anything doesn't seem right, sorry lol. Enjoy!

         Despite the constant threat of destruction, the lingering fear of the Yuuzhan Vong regrouping and attacking with some yet-unknown element likely to erase all scant evidence of life off the surface of the planet, like an amphistaff hanging menacingly above their heads – life on Borleias marched resolutely, unerringly, reliably on.

           Most commanders were familiar with this, with the slowing-down of life under constant threat, with the knowledge that death would surely catch up in the end, so there was no point worrying about it when other, more productive things could be done. It certainly wasn’t a new feeling for Jaina Solo, although circumstances had warped strangely for her, made it feel even less urgent than the temporary lull would suggest. Her every need was tended to, her every order followed, her every spoken wish fulfilled. It was like being a queen, she thought, because queenliness was her only frame of reference for understanding reverence on the scale which she commanded: Jaina did not believe in gods or goddesses. She did not believe anything or anyone deserved holiness only for the merest act in the galaxy – the act of being.

           So a goddess Jaina was not, but a soldier she could be, and the soldier in her understood that this was a form of warfare. To convince soldiers of religion that their deities had abandoned them was half the battle. For this reason, Jaina allowed the gross indignities of worship.

           Not that there weren’t a few perks about the whole situation, though.

           One such perk arrived in the form of a supply shuttle stocked with a box of what most people who ate it called _space jerky_ , which wasn’t really made of any kind of meat at all, Jaina was pretty sure, but instead a dried smorgasbord of nutrient-heavy proteins mixed with some kind of chemical reactant which triggered a mild release of serotonin in the brain. It wasn’t quite a narcotic – smugglers like her father had been relying on the stuff  on long journeys for decades, and would never have risked clumsy flying, carrying cargo too precious to waste – but it relieved stress, made sleep easier, and was a general all-around mood enhancer. Jacen had always hated the stuff, claiming it made his brain foggy and his connection to the Force weak. Anakin had liked it just fine, but never really appreciated its effects like his sister had.

           Jaina, on the other hand, loved the stuff. It tasted like childhood and long flights, and the relaxed feeling at the end of the day which said, _Rest now, you’ve done enough_. It made her happy.

           And she had never even requested it, which is where the real goddess-magic came into play. She suspected her mother or father had added it to General Antilles’s supply list, and Wedge had obliged only because of the goddess façade – and the fact that space jerky was about the cheapest junk in the galaxy, so it didn’t require all that much effort to get.

           There was this, and the fact Jaina’s quarters had the best holo connection in the entire compound. Every few nights for the past week or so she had ended up squeezed on her small bed, shredding space jerky into pieces with her fingers and devouring entire packages, while Colonel Jagged Fel sat propped up neatly beside her, warm gray socks covering his feet, holopad in hand.

           He carried this holopad with him always; when meetings did not demand his attention, he glanced down at it constantly, checking status updates and receiving updated orders and all the other important managerial things his rank dictated he must do.

           And during the nighttime, he sat in Jaina Solo’s bed and watched holodramas.

           “I’ve seen this one,” he noted absently, eyes focused on the holopad. Beside him, Jaina chewed her jerky thoughtfully. “If I recall correctly, the princess decides to forego her political alliance with the Senator and elopes with the pilot.”

           “Oh, yeah, I know this one,” said Jaina, peering at the holopad as well. “Isn’t it called, _Han Solo: A Biography_?”

           “No,” answered Jag, shaking his head with slightly more conviction than Jaina’s comment called for. “It’s just fiction.”

           “Watch the credits at the end. It’ll say _Based on a true story_ , and that true story is my parents.”

           “Your mother was never engaged to a Senator.”

           “No, but she was courted by a Prince.”

           Jag nudged her with his elbow. “As were you.”

           Tearing a long jerky strip in two, she let out a grunt of laughter. “Don’t get too cocky, flyboy.”

           Jaina felt Jag stiffen slightly beside her, a flush like the rising of blood into cheeks surrounding her in the Force. She glanced up at him, confused – then saw him looking down at her with something like amusement in his eyes, completely oblivious to the princess passionately declaring her love for the pilot on the holopad before him.

           “I was talking about Prince Isolder,” he said.

           “Oh,” she said.

           It was then that Jaina found herself in agreement with Jacen about the space jerky; her thoughts felt dense and sluggish, as if she couldn’t come up with the right words. Unable or unwilling to try and find them, she looked back at her snack, and said nothing.

           Jag turned back to watch the holodrama.

           “I hope the Senator won’t hold a grudge,” he added. “The princess needs that fleet to defend her homeworld.”

           Jaina watched the last few minutes with him, then pointed at a line hastily tacked on to the end. “There,” she said. “ _Based on a true story_. What’d I say?”

           With a slight, secret smile on his face, Jag played the next episode. “We should stop before we get to the love scenes. Given who the characters are – albeit loosely – based upon, that might make you uncomfortable.”

           “Ah, I’m a grown woman. I can appreciate a good love scene.”

           They continued watching in silence. It was only a few minutes later that Jaina realized she was blushing, and it took her a moment to figure out why.

            _I can appreciate a good love scene_. She felt strangely warm, and acutely aware of the length of her arm brushing up against Jag’s side. He kept his eyes focused on the holodrama, but so did she, so even if he turned to look at her she might not notice.

           She and Jag had kissed, this much was true: they had even done more than kiss, they had pressed their bodies together hungrily, roaming hands and ravenous mouths. They liked to slip away as if on official duty, and return to work some minutes later as if nothing had occurred at all. It was a secret, a forbidden thing – forbidden only in that no one knew about it, and exciting only as long as they kept it that way, for her apparent apotheosis meant that she would surely be allowed to take whomever she wanted as a companion and a lover. But as long as nobody knew, then they could not be sure that it was allowed. They liked that danger. Jaina liked it because danger felt familiar to her, rebellion an old friend; Jag did, Jaina thought, because he was yet unfamiliar with the sensation, and it thrilled him.

           But despite this, their touches had remained…oddly appropriate. It seemed they never had the time or occasion to go beyond a particularly passionate, well, _make-out session_ , Jaina supposed, however juvenile it sounded. They were like kids, like teenagers in careful, nervous lust. Jaina had never gone farther with anyone before. She doubted if Jag had either.

           And despite his presence in her bed, he remained fully clothed, except for the shoes he had left neatly on her floor.

           Jaina took stock of herself. She was wearing the leggings and sleeveless shirt which went under her flight suit, her hair sloppily tied out of her face, on her second bag of space jerky that night. It was not exactly the kind of romantic setting one saw in a holodrama, especially not one based on the epic romance that was her parents’.

           Slowly, Jaina wiped her mouth with the back of her wrist, then folded over the bag of space jerky, and set it aside. She drew herself up to sitting position, her shoulder just above the level of Jag’s – she was taller than he was. Jaina was taller than most on Borleias. She was Jacen’s height, exactly.

           She thought about Jacen numbly, removed just far enough that the pain of his loss could not clip at her insides. She had to think about Jacen – not just in that abstract, _To grieve is to heal_ kind of way, but in a tangible way, she had to brace herself for thinking about her relation to him, if she was about to have the conversation with Jag she had been anticipating for some time.

           There was a reason, thought Jaina. There was a reason why they hadn’t gone much further than kisses and touches through clothes. Every time Jag’s hands had wandered just a little too far, his touch a little too urgent, Jaina had pulled away; to his credit, every time this happened Jag instantly reciprocated, removing his hands and pausing just long enough for Jaina to return to his lips with a kiss that was perhaps a little more cautious than she had been before. He had never once repeated an action which made her react so, and had made it a habit to start asking before he touched her.

           It was sweet. In the Force, she could usually feel his drowsy sense of arousal, an attraction to her that ran much deeper than a casual affair. Sometimes she felt the same thing, and it took her a moment to recognize it wasn’t his feelings bleeding over to her in the Force.

           “Jag,” she said.

           She glanced up from her hands to see that he was already watching her, that same faint trace of amusement still in his eyes. The holodrama still played, though he had muted it at some point in the past few minutes. She hadn’t noticed.

           “Yes,” he answered, with a hint of a joke in his voice, “Exalted One?”

           He was teasing her, and she punched him in the shoulder softly. “Don’t start with that.”

           “My orders are to treat you like a goddess, even in private. I’m afraid my obligation is to my commander, first and foremost.”

           “I’m your commander,” she said, meeting his gaze. “And I say cut it out. Just while we’re here, alone.”

           Jag cocked his head very slightly, observing her carefully for a moment. Then he gave a small nod. “I can do that.”

           After another second, she looked away. “I want to talk to you about something.”

           “It does seem like a reasonable time for an important conversation.”

           Jaina glanced up at him, unsure if there was sarcasm in that statement. When he looked back at her solemnly, she decided there was not.

           She drew her knees in towards her, hugging them into her chest. Despite the usually tranquil effect of the space jerky, she felt uncomfortable in her own skin. A familiar feeling overwhelmed her, and she took down her long hair, running her fingers through it, braiding it self-consciously. She was glad her hair had grown out since Duro. It had been an agonizing first year or so, waiting for it to get long enough to look like herself again, distancing herself physically from Jacen so people wouldn’t do a double-take when they saw her next to him. Jacen had helped, had been there for her in whatever way he could, and she had been half grateful for that, half resentful. Empathy had always been Jacen’s strong suit, and it was strongest with his twin sister, so when she was in pain, so was he: and yet Jaina thought he had done nothing to _earn_ that particular hurt. Her dysphoria then had not belonged to her brother. It had belonged to her.

           Jag spoke up. “Is this about us?” he asked, quietly.

           She leaned her head back, looking at him. “Yes,” she said.

           He nodded stoically. “I thought so,” he said. “Please know that I understand. It’s unfortunate, but there could not have been worse circumstances under which we could’ve met. I humbly request to remain under your command in Twin Suns, but if that proves uncomfortable for you, I will gladly accept a transfer.”

           There was a moment’s pause; Jaina looked at him, slightly puzzled, then he silently looked back at his holopad, turning it off, and moved to get off the bed.

           It suddenly occurred to Jaina what he was talking about, and she reached out and took hold of his forearm. “Jag,” she said abruptly, blinking at him in surprise. “I’m not – that’s not what I’m saying.”

           He eyed her for a moment, and Jaina could feel a vague sense of suspicion, as well as a powerful glow of hope. Jag kept the latter locked up sternly, refusing to acknowledge its warmth. Jaina felt a surge of affection for the man.

           She tugged him back onto the bed, and he sat before her uncertainly. “All right,” he said. “What are you saying?”

           It took her a while to build up the courage to say it out loud. Jaina was not insecure by nature, nor usually nervous in her speech; but she was unused to talking about this with those who did not already understand, who could not feel the truth emanating from her mind and body through waves in the Force. And in a way, she felt a kind of responsibility: this conversation with Jag was not only for herself, but for him, so that he would know, so that he might understand if he ever met anyone else in her position.

           “Jag,” she said, still holding on to his arm. “I’m metagen.”

           He stared at her uncomprehendingly. “You’re what?”

           “Metagender,” she repeated, using the proper term, which felt clinical in her mouth, like surgical steel. This was the word the doctors had used, never one she had really claimed for herself. “Do you know what that is?”

           The look of slight confusion on Jag’s face answered that question, but he shook his head anyway.

           “It’s when – look.”

           She found herself unreasonably frustrated, warmth blooming under the skin of her cheeks. Knowing her face was quickly turning pink only embarrassed her more, and she had to let go of Jag so she could return to smoothing out the braid of her hair, reminding herself how soft and long it was.

           “When Jacen and I were born,” she said, feeling that dull sting in her heart at her brother’s name, “we were identical.”

           Jag had no reaction, only watched her with a slight crease on his brow.

           She continued, “On my medcert, they listed me as male. As a boy. But…” she glanced away uneasily, unsure how to explain this, “…my mom, and my uncle, they always knew.”

           “Knew?” asked Jag. Somehow, he didn’t seem to be understanding.

           “They knew that I was a girl,” she clarified. “I was just – born in a body that didn’t match up with that. But that’s okay. Sometimes that happens. I’ve lived with that body my whole life. It’s not so bad.”

           Jag still looked confused. Jaina’s stomach dropped, and for one long, dangerous second, she found herself hanging above an abyss, terrified.

           Slowly, thoughtfully, Jag nodded.

           “Like _vesuhn_?” he asked.

           Jaina blinked at him. “What?”

           “ _Vesuhn_ ,” he echoed. It was an odd, strangled word, coming from deep in the throat in such a way that Jaina wasn’t confident she could accurately repeat back to him. It was certainly not Basic. “It’s a Cheunh word,” he explained, referring to the language of the Chiss. In that ever-professional tone of his, he continued, “Chiss sexual dimorphism can be somewhat ambiguous at times. Individuals who aren’t clearly gendered sometimes call themselves _vesuhn_. It’s not a very clever etymology to be honest – more of a simple portmanteau than an original descriptor, but…” he trailed off, gazing at Jaina. She sensed another surge of that gentle hope, surrounding the both of them, enveloping them in warmth. “Like that?”

           It dawned on Jaina that he wasn’t surprised, or confused, or disgusted at all. He was trying to understand.

           “Kind of,” she answered gratefully. “It’s – it’s less complicated than that, for me. I am a girl, I just-”

           Jag let out a muted grunt of laughter, and Jaina raised an eyebrow.

           “Something funny?” she asked.

           Apologetically, he glanced up at her. “No, it’s just…” he paused, then that small, secret smile graced his lips once more. “Woman,” he said sheepishly. “I was just thinking, you’re not a girl. You’re a woman.”

           Jaina felt another blush rise to her cheeks.

           “Right,” she said, glancing away from him, somehow unwilling to look him in the eyes. “Okay. My point being, I _am_ that, but… Jag, if this – if you and I – end up, you know, _going_ anywhere. I just want you to know that I may not…it may not be like…” she nodded at his dark holopad, “…the way it is in holos.”

           Amused, Jag watched her curiously. In feigned offense, he asked, “What kind of holos do you think I watch?”

           “Stop it,” she said, but she was smiling and rolling her eyes as she did so. “I’m being serious here. I like you. I like our – our daytime breaks, a _lot_.”

           Jag nodded seriously. “And you’d like them to turn into – nighttime breaks.”

           In vague relief, Jaina nodded. “Yes,” she said. “That’s all I’m trying to say.”

           Jag held up his hands, as if in a shrug. “If I may speak freely – have I _not_ been making my feelings on this matter entirely clear to you, Goddess?”

           She laughed, loosely untangling her braid, then throwing her long hair over her shoulder. “I just wanted you to know.”

           “And now I know,” he said, nodding. “And I respect your reticence. I suppose I see why you might want to have this conversation first.”

           “Just to avoid any surprises.”

           “Not possible. Unfortunately, there will most certainly be surprises. I’ve never done this before.”

           The admission took Jaina aback, and it took a moment to recompose herself. “Oh,” she said. “Well. Me too.”

           There was a short, maybe-awkward silence.

           “If you’d like practice first,” offered Jag sincerely, “I am positive Kyp Durron has some experience in this area, and I suspect he would be happy to assist.”

           Jaina laughed again. “No thanks,” she told him. “I think it’s probably better this way. At least both of us are going to be equally bad at it.”

           Severely, Jag drew himself up, his shoulders broad. “Jaina Solo,” he said firmly, “I don’t believe there’s a single thing in the galaxy at which you don’t excel.”

           “That’s sweet,” she answered, leaning forward, placing a hand on his cheek. “Remind me to never let you see me in a kitchen.”

           He kissed her.

           “Don’t need to,” he murmured, lingering at her lips. “What do we need cooking for?” He reached past her to take something, then held up a half-empty bag and said, very seriously: “We have space jerky.”

           Jaina laughed, and she returned Jag’s kiss, and slowly, he lowered her down to the bed, setting aside his holopad, kicking off his warm gray socks.


End file.
